Tampering with Time is Risky Business
by No I'm Sirius
Summary: Draco deeply regrets taking the Mark. He's terrified of failure and he can't fix the vanishing cabinet. Then he stumbles across a box that holds the secret to time travel. He goes back to 1st year to try and save his family and earns a loyal friend. Adopted from Athey.
1. Chapter 1

_Original Author: Athey  
_

_Adopted by: No I'm Sirius_

**:::: :::: :::: ::::**

Regret. It had become such an enormously powerful force in the world of Draco Malfoy. Regrets about the choices he had made over the years. Regrets about the choices his _father _had made over the years. Regrets about the unfortunate circumstances that had forced his family to cower to the whims of a lunatic almost constantly. Circumstances that had led him to living in fear in his own home.

Fear. Fear of pain, mostly. It was probably the biggest driving force behind all of his regrets, if he were honest with himself. But remorse and guilt also drove some of them – although he would desperately deny it to any who would dare accuse him of it. He was a Slytherin. Slytherin's weren't supposed to feel remorse or guilt for their actions. They were proud of their actions, or they hid them and denied them while secretly reveling in them.

For a Slytherin to change their stance on an issue because of pain was acceptable. That was self preservation – a trait that Slytherin's were well known for. A good Slytherin could thrive in the toughest of environments and make the most of it. Claw their way to the top no matter the challenges that they were faced with. And Malfoys weren't just good Slytherins, they were _great_.

Or at least, they had been. Now, they seemed to have been reduced to little better than house elves. His father's substantial wealth was actually draining with horrifying speed for the sake of bankrolling the Dark Lord's bid for world domination, while he and his family cowered in terror and groveled at their master's feet, as if hoping for scraps of approval, as if there was _anything_ that they could hope to do to restore their honor after this mess. Honestly at this point, Draco would be utterly shocked if any of them lived beyond the end of the next year.

Because the Dark Lord was winning. The man was a power-hungry, monstrosity, that fed off of the pain and suffering of others as if it were his life blood.

After his father's failure in the Ministry, it had been _expected_ that Draco take the Mark and fill his father's vacant spot in the Dark Lord's ranks. He hadn't had a _choice_ in the matter. Oh no. It was do it, or die. Simple as that. And so Draco had bowed his head, called the hideous serpentine creature his _master_ and gritted his teeth as his left forearm was flooded with pain he had never before that point experienced and he was branded a slave.

_A Malfoy's bow to no man._

He snorted bitterly in his mind, recalling the words his father had said to him numerous times during his youth.

While his Marking had been the most painful thing he'd experienced in his pampered little life up until that moment, it was certainly not the most painful thing he experienced after it. The Dark Lord seemed to get his jollies off by torturing his followers, and since Lucius was still locked away in Azkaban – no doubt enjoying the vacation since the Dementors were no longer there, and being in the prison meant he wasn't at the mercies of his _master_ – Draco was left to the whims of the Dark Lord and all of his deep, furious ire in regards to Draco's father's failure.

Draco had been taught to cast the Cruciatus curse – although he'd never quite managed to summon up enough true hate to pull it off very well – but he had never been on the receiving end of the curse until the Dark Lord turned his wand upon Draco and absently sneered the spell as if he could only barely be bothered with it.

Draco had no idea what he could have possibly done at that time to earn the curse. He later realized that nothing had to be done at all for the Dark Lord to turn his wand on his followers. He just _did it sometimes_. He supposed the man was _bored_.

Needless to say, the summer between his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was the most painful summer he had ever experienced.

But even the knowledge that he would be returning to Hogwarts could not give him reprieve or relief. Because the Dark Lord had given him a task. An impossible task. It was a task intended to fail – Draco knew that. He was no fool. The Dark Lord had absolutely no expectations that Draco could possibly pull of what had been assigned to him, although he was damned well going to try because if... no... _when_ he failed, he would be at the Dark Lord's mercy once again, and he knew it was at that point that his life would meet it's end.

The task in question was to kill Dumbledore of all people. _Dumbledore!_ It was utterly ridiculous! The Dark Lord himself couldn't kill Dumbledore! Of course there was another aspect to his task – one that was slightly more possible, although still proving to be remarkably difficult. He was supposed to find a way to get a group of Death Eaters in through the school's wards so they could mount an attack from the inside.

The very idea made Draco ill. The idea of exposing his fellow school mates to the whims of his Aunt Bella, or Fenrir Greyback... They had tried to assuage his fears by pointing out that none of the _Slytherins_ would be harmed in the attack – they would be warned to stay down in the dungeons and Severus would make sure that they stayed put – but that didn't make Draco feel even the slightest bit better.

He had come to realize that no matter how hard he had tried, over the years, to be just as cold and heartless as his father had tried to train him to be, he had still been coddled by his mother, and found that he really did not have the stomach for all this death and blood. He could be a fine politician someday – assuming of course that he could ever hope to live that long – but watching people that he had attended school with for five years _die_ before his very eyes and _because of his actions..._ he just... didn't think he could stand it.

And so he found himself feeling utterly torn and conflicted as he spent every minute of time not in classes or rushing through his classwork desperately trying to find some solution to his tasks, while trying very very hard not to think about the consequences of success.

It was during these desperate efforts to try and find some solution to his imminent doom, that he stumbled across a _box_. It was in the cluttered mess of a room that he'd moved the broken Vanishing Cabinet into in order to work on fixing it. The room had been used by Potter the previous year for that damned defense group that Draco had jealously wanted to attend, but would have never _ever_ earned an invite to. Instead he'd ended up on Umbridge's stupid little Inquisitorial Squad. But it was because of that that he'd learned about _the room_. Umbridge has used some of Snape's Veritaserum on one of the Ravenclaws in the defense club and gotten all of the details about the room out of her. Most specifically the fact that it was called The Room of Requirment and that you could make it into whatever you needed as long as you asked for it properly.

When Draco had requested a room where he could hide something and walked in to discover a cavernous cathedral-type room filled to the brim with mountains upon mountains of_junk_... well, it had been a bit startling and overwhelming. But he had mostly ignored the mess of junk and focused his limited time and effort towards addressing the Vanishing Cabinet. But sometime after Halloween while Draco had been failing to make any progress at all on his task, he had bumped into something-or-another and knocked a blood stained rug off a broken table to reveal an ornately carved wooden box underneath it that seemed to... _call_ to him.

Generally speaking, Draco knew better than to approach any magical object that seemed to _call_ to him. His rather impressive skill in Occlumency usually prevented him from being effected by such magics as well, but at this particular moment, he couldn't quite stop himself from bending over and picking the wooden box up. He found his way over to a table that _wasn't_ broken, cleared it of the rubbish littering the top of it, and set the box down gently.

He stared down at it feeling bewildered by what he was experiencing. For some reason, he felt absolutely _convinced_ that the solution to all of his problems lay within this box. And that _knowledge_ seemed to have sparked life into a long dead, abandoned seed of hope, deep in his heart. But why he felt this way... he couldn't say.

Hesitantly, he unlatched the small, black, weathered catch holding the box shut, and opened the box. Inside he found a piece of folded parchment and a book.

That note and book would change his life drastically – far more than he ever would have guessed. However, he would come to determine that the changes were decidedly for the_best_.

**:::: :::: :::: ::::**

Time. It was relative. It was mostly a matter of perceptions as well. Not that Draco had ever really given time much thought before. He was aware, on some level, that Time was not nearly as perfect and measurable as some would insist.

Time could pass so quickly when he was enjoying himself, but it would drag on forever when he was waiting for something. Or when he was suffering under the torturous pain of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus curse. He had been informed that the longest he had been held under the Dark Lord's curse was a mere thirty seconds, but he would _swear_ it was at least five minutes.

And as such, it was very easy for Draco to accept the fact that Time was not nearly as cut and dry as many people believed. But Draco had been raised a pureblood form an old magick family and there were certain 'truths' about magic that had been drilled into him since his youth, and one of those truths was that you _don't mess with time._

Tampering with time was even more forbidden than the Unforgivables. Anyone that the Ministry discovered dicking around in Time Magic without proper authorization, got themselves a one-way ticket to Azkaban. But when the voice in the back of Draco's mind reminded him of that fact, his eyes would slide down to his left forearm and see the ugly black tattoo that now tainted his otherwise perfect flesh and remember that he already bore his ticket to Azkaban – or death, which ever came first.

And so he pressed on, because the more he had thought about what he had discovered inside the box, the more and more _tempting_ the possibilities became. Because Draco Malfoy had a lot of regrets. A lot of things that, looking back, he would do differently. And what would things look like today, if certain other things had gone differently?

He had come to realize that he would give just about anything if it meant the end of the Dark Lord. The thing was that, he really didn't know how to do that. Harry Potter was being heralded as the Chosen One, and if what he'd learned of the Prophecy that had gotten his father in Azkaban was true... well if it was true Potter _was_ the Chosen One. The Dark Lord had only ever learned the first three lines of the Prophecy. Not many people were privy to that information, but Draco was one of them. His father had told his mother the previous Yule holidays while the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were quite desperately trying to find a way to acquire the damned thing from the Ministry.

Draco had long ago taken up the habit of spying on the goings on in the manor whenever he was there. Malfoy Manor had passages between all of the walls that the house elves used to move things, or to hid in the shadows so that they would be ready at a moments notice when one of their wizard masters needed something. As a young boy, Draco had taken to playing in the tiny tunnels, and discovered that the old silencing wards on them had degraded over the years and his parents had not realized.

He'd learned quite a lot of interesting, and occasionally disturbing, information that way. Especially since the Dark Lord had taken up residence in his family's home. He'd learned that Sirius Black had never been a Death Eater, and reports that he'd betrayed the Potters were greatly exaggerated. The man had been a member of the Order, and he had apparently died during the debacle at the Ministry at the hands of his mad aunt Bella.

He'd learned that Peter Pettigrew was called 'Wormtail' because he was an animagus who turned into a rather fat, ugly looking rat that had apparently been Weasley's pet rat – which he had to admit he found _very_ amusing. He'd learned that the insanity that happened in his second year at Hogwarts with the Chamber of Secrets had _something_ to do with a _Diary_that the Dark Lord had left in his father's care during the first war. The thing was that his father had _not_ had permission to let the book out of his hands, and somehow at the end of Draco's second year, Potter had managed to destroy the book and _that_ had absolutely _infuriated_ the Dark Lord.

But despite the things that he _did_ know, he still realized that he really had _no idea_ how to go about saving his family from a fate he considered worth than simple death. Servitude, groveling, and pain, at the feet of a psychotic masochist.

He _did_ know that it was Pettigrew that had found the Dark Lord's disembodied spirit and helped him regain a body. So if he could somehow prevent that... well, the man had just been a stupid little rat, right? So, he kill Weasley's pet rat when Wormtail was still Weasley's pet rat, and that's one crisis averted. But he realized that he wanted to go back... well, he wanted to go back to first year, if he were being honest with himself, and if what he found in The Box was true, _he could_.

Going back to first year would also mean going back to the year that Quirrell was at Hogwarts with the Dark Lord hidden beneath his smelly turban. Potter and his friends had somehow stopped the Dark Lord at the end of their first year, and something Potter had done had banished the Dark Lord to whatever dark forest Pettigrew had later found him hiding in. So if Draco went all the way back to first year, he either had to make sure he didn't mess with time so badly that Potter failed at stopping the Dark Lord, or he would have to personally make sure that Potter succeeded at it again. Seeing as how he really didn't know many of the details about that whole ordeal didn't bode well for his chances.

Sure there were loads of rumors at the end of his first year, but it was hard to know what to believe and what not too. He was _fairly sure_ that the rumor that Dumbledore had been hiding the Philosipher's Stone in the school was actually _true_, because that was just the sort of barmy thing the old coot would do, not to mention, it was one of the few magical artifacts that the Dark Lord would actually risk exposing himself over. But still – Draco just didn't_ know_. He would be leaving a lot of things undecided and unplanned, which never sat well with him.

For once in his life, Draco was willing to just take a chance and leap into things head first. Quite simply, his current situation was so miserably dire that just about _anything _would be better, and he was willing to take the chances and deal with things as he was faced with them.

It was a disgustingly Gryffindor approach, but Draco was desperate. And desperate times call for desperate measures. And thus, Draco found himself rushing with only one day left before the Yule Holidays would begin and he would have to return to a Malfoy Manor filled with Death Eaters, and one very horrible Dark Lord, in hopes of completing his preparations, arithmancy calculations, and the last of the series of potions he would need to take, in order to perform the complex ritual described in the book and letter he'd found within The Box.

He was going to send his memories, knowledge, and magic back in time to his previous self. He was going to change the past, and hopefully make for himself and his family, a much better future.

His father would not approve of what few plans Draco had made, but in the long run it would benefit them far more than the poor choices Lucius Malfoy had been making and the miserable path it had led them all down. Draco was willing to take his younger father's disapproval in the short term if it saved them all in the long run.

If Harry Potter was the Chosen One, then Draco was going to make sure that Potter would be as prepared as possible to fulfill his destiny and rid the world of the horrific monstrosity that was the Dark Lord. He would befriend Harry Potter, at all costs. He would get his family on the side of the Light, whether they liked it or not.

Hopefully, he wouldn't get disowned for it before they realized it was all for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain. Disorientation. Confusion.

His head _exploded_ with pressure and a maelstrom of confusing images, _memories_, emotions and sensations filled him, coursed _through_ him, and a moment later, caused him to black out completely.

Draco Malfoy woke up in the center of his bedroom, sprawled out on the plush carpet floor to the sight of a pair of large, terrified-looking eyes and enormous floppy bat ears starting down at him and a pair of long-fingered and wrinkled hands wringing nervously, over top of him.

He screamed in shock and pushed himself back and into a sitting position before scrabbling to the wrist holder he'd taken to wearing on his left arm that had the dual benefit of making his wand easily accessible _and_ covering the damned bloody tattoo on his arm – but the holster wasn't there. Neither was his wand anywhere on his person.

For that matter, his scream had been shockingly high pitched. Nearly as high pitched as the terrified shriek that had emitted from the house elf as it too jumped back in shock. The elf in question then began to beat its own head in with the nearest blunt object as it berated itself for scaring the young master.

Draco just gaped and watched the familiar elf punish itself for a moment as he attempted to sort through and make sense of the garbled mess in his mind. Clarity increased with each passing second and finally he seemed to collect enough of himself to order the elf to stop hitting itself and tell him the date.

The elf promptly stopped hitting himself and informed Draco that it was the young master's eleventh birthday – June 5th, 1991.

It had worked.

– –

It had been an absolutely _exhausting_ month and a half. His mother was convinced he was ill for almost all of June and had brought in several healers to look him over. He'd been a bit nervous, but the first two hadn't found anything, and the only thing noteworthy that the last had mentioned was that he seemed to have a remarkably powerful and well-developed magical core for an eleven-year-old. That remark had caused his parents to both look at him with surprise and interest. His father's eyes had gleamed with pride and_greed_, which didn't exactly sit well with Draco, if he were honest with himself.

He'd only just barely began to collect his frayed nerves during July and focus on playing the part of the young, spoiled little boy he'd been at age eleven. It wasn't easy. Mostly because he was so disgusted with himself in hindsight. How naive he'd been. How _blind_. He had been so ignorant of the hardships of the real world, and so convinced in his own superiority even though he'd done absolutely nothing to warrant or earn such confidence or influence. It was all his _father's_ power. His _father's_ influence and money and respect. He was just the spoiled little rich boy who whined and bullied until he got whatever he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. But when he was suddenly thrust into the real world he realized that every 'skill' he'd nurtured during his first few years at Hogwarts was absolutely worthless out there where there were real consequences. Consequences that involved a lot of pain.

Not to mention that he'd been a right bastard back then. Not that he'd seemingly gotten much better in his later years, but much of that had been for the sake of maintaining appearances. He'd felt trapped in the role he'd established for himself at home and at Hogwarts. Any change in his personality or actions would have only been looked upon with suspicion by the majority of the school, and possibly seen as a sign of weakness by the other members of Slytherin who would have greedily taken advantage of the situation to improve their own status by diminishing his.

But that was one of the glorious things about having gone back this far. He could start over with a clean slate. He could be whoever he wanted to be now. Re-invent himself... assuming he was even capable of that. He was really rather accustomed to the way he'd acted for the majority of his life.

He had to maintain the old stuck-up spoiled boy act with his parents. His change in behavior and attitude had already drawn their notice and because of it, they were watching him more closely now and it was a scrutiny that he did not want, nor appreciate. But they were _his parents_. They'd known him his whole life, and while his father wasn't around nearly as much as his mother, they both knew him well enough to know that something had happened, even if he denied it.

But at school no one would have any expectations set in stone. Sure, some people would have preconceived ideas because of who his father was that they would have a hard time letting go, but he still had a fresh chance to define himself in their eyes, mostly from a blank slate.

Even the people who he had ended up being 'friends' with from Slytherin house hadn't known him all that well as a child. Sure, he'd known Pansy and Theo, Greg and Vincent, since they were all quite young thanks to their parents social events, but they never saw each other in any regular or frequent occasion. They were all home schooled and privately tutored. They had occasionally had play-dates arranged by their families, but not so much as one might expect.

If he went to Hogwarts and acted in a manner significantly contrary to his original eleven-year-old self, no one would really know... well, except for Severus. He might notice. But it was common for a kid to try and reinvent themselves when going into an all new environment, right?

But until he got to Hogwarts, he needed to keep himself held together for the sake of his parents. The first real opportunity to set his only vaguely constructed plans into action was quickly approaching. July 31st was quickly approaching, and with it, his trip to Diagon Alley for his school supplies.

If there was one person he had desired a 'clean slate' do-over with, it was Harry Potter, and this would be his chance. He had to make it count.

– –

"This way, dear," Narcissa said as she nudged Draco away from the window display at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What is the next stop?" Lucius asked blandly as he looked around the bustling crowds of witches, wizards, and children, currently cluttering the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley with an obvious air of disdain and superiority.

Narcissa Malfoy consulted Draco's list of school supplies for a moment before responding. "We still need to get Draco his school robes, his text books, and his wand. So, robes next."

Lucius barely covered a grimace, but Draco saw it. He knew how his father felt about clothes shopping, especially if his mother were present.

"For the sake of saving time, seeing as how I do need to pay Minister Fudge a visit for tea this afternoon, I propose I go to Flourish and Blotts and get Draco's textbooks while you attend to his robes," Lucius drawled.

"Fine with me, dear," she said as she separated off the sheet of parchment that listed the text books and handed it to her husband. He took it and with a few parting words, turned and headed down the opposite direction towards the bookstore.

Narcissa led Draco down to Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions and spent the next fifteen minutes looking through patters, fabrics, and making a complex list purchases while Draco sat in a small chair to the side, bored out of his mind and feeling both incredibly anxious and impatient.

So far things had progressed almost identically to the way it had in his original timeline. They'd gotten him a brand new top-of-the-line three compartment trunk with space expanded interiors – Draco had to admit that it had been a necessary indulgence considering how many things he owned and would be taking with him to school – and they had gone to the apothecary for his potions kit. They had also gotten his telescope and stationary supplies already as well.

Now he was just waiting for his mother to finish her business with the madam so he could start getting measured. Finally, she did just that and as Draco was led up to a small pedestal so the matron could begin taking his measurement, Narcissa Malfoy informed Draco that she was going to browse a little at several of the shops along the Alley and would meet him at Ollivander's for his wand when he was done.

He impatiently waved her off and heaved a sigh of relief as she finally vanished out the front door. It was only a matter of minutes later when he heard the little bell over the door ding and heard the voice of Madam Malkin as she asked, "Hogwarts, dear?"

Draco felt his heart rate peak with nerves and anticipation as he waited a moment longer before the familiar and yet shockingly _small_ black-haired boy appeared around the corner and was led to the pedestal to Draco's left.

He'd gotten used to his own short stature and the frustratingly high-pitched childish voice over the course of the last almost-two-months, but it was still oddly surprising to see Harry Potter _so young_ again. The boy's slight form was only emphasized by the thread-bare, oversized clothing he was wearing that hung off him unflatteringly. It was almost a relieve when Madam Malkin threw a robe over Potter's head and began to pin it.

"Hello," Draco began tentatively. "Hogwarts too? First year?"

Potter turned his head and looked up at Draco through his fringe with a cautious bashful look about him that Draco couldn't honestly recall ever seeing on Potter's face before, but he knew that when he was actually eleven, he wouldn't really have been paying attention enough to have noticed something like that. He had probably been too distracted by Potter's ratty muggle clothes to notice.

"Er, yeah," Potter said in reply, and the childlike voice sent another pang of shock reeling through Draco, but he masked the surprise. It was all just _so surreal_.

"Me too. I'm Draco Malfoy," Draco said, turning slightly toward Potter and extending out his hand. The pang of deja vu did not go unnoticed by the blond.

Potter eyed the hand for a moment as if he didn't know what to do with it before he seemed to pull himself together and maneuvered despite the seamstresses pinning so that he could take Draco's hand and he shook it.

It was entirely idiotic how _happy_ that made Draco feel and he internally scolded himself for it.

"Harry Potter," Potter replied.

Draco heard the slightest intake of breath from the witch who was pinning his robes, but didn't give any reaction himself to Potter's name. He may have been obsessively jealous and bitter about Harry Potter for years, but he'd also watched him enough to have admitted – even if only to himself – that the Boy-Who-Lived actually despised his fame and would not appreciate it if Draco approached their new relationship with anything resembling hero-worship. He knew that would be the wrong approach here, so he chose to go with treating Harry as if he were any other boy.

"Pleasure to meet you," Draco said with a polite nod as he shook Potter's hand. "So are you excited? I've been looking forward to Hogwarts for as long as I can remember."

"Excited? Oh, definitely," Potter said with a huge grin before it became a bit sheepish and he ducked his head. "But I er... I only just found out about it. I didn't know about Hogwarts before last night."

_That_ gave Draco pause. He'd had _no idea_ that Potter hadn't known about Hogwarts _at all_ before this point! He'd known he was raised by muggles, but that he hadn't known _at all?_

Draco's lightening fast mind flew through potential responses to move the conversation forward. For a fraction of a second he considered asking Potter if he were muggleborn, but he realized it would be far to unbelievable to anyone besides Potter himself that Draco did not know who _Harry Potter_ was, so that direction was out.

"Raised by muggles, then?" Draco said, putting as much effort as he could into _not_ sounding derisive or condescending when he said the word 'muggles'.

"That's right," Potter answered quietly.

"And they never _told you?_ Really?" Draco asked, honestly curious.

Potter scowled and ducked his head. "No, they never did," he grumbled under his breath.

"But they knew, right? I mean, when you were left with them, they were _told_ that you're a wizard, right?"

"Yeah, I think so... wait... how did you know that I was, er... left with... I mean, that I don't live with my parents?"

"Er... well, I mean... I _have _heard of you. You _do_ know that you're kind of famous in our world, right?"

"Oh... yeah. I um... I know. I sort of ran into a big crowd in the Leaky Cauldron. It was erm... a bit much."

Draco snorted. "I bet. Personally I think they're all being a bit mental and insensitive. I mean, do you even _remember_ the night? You were like... thirteen months old when it happened right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't remember any of it."

"Exactly! I can only imagine how unpleasant it would be to be famous for _not dying_. Being constantly reminded of it... I dunno. People are insensitive and stupid sometimes. Although, I suppose I'm not being much better, so please accept my apologies."

"No, no. You're, er... much better. Really. I mean, you haven't like, tried to touch me or shake my hand or asked about the scar or something. The people in the pub... it was... strange. And yeah... they were a bit much."

"So who did you end up with? After your parents, I mean... You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"Oh, I ended up with my aunt and uncle. My aunt is my mum's sister."

"And they're muggles, and they _never_ told you? What did they tell you happened to your parents?"

Potter scowled again and looked down at his feet. "They said they died in a car crash."

"Car... that's one of those otomo-bills right?" Draco said, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar word as he wasn't entirely sure how it was pronounced.

Potter looked back up and the corner of his mouth turned up and Draco could see the slightest indication of amusement sparkle in his eyes, but he squashed it admirably.

"Um, yeah. It's automobile, actually, but that was pretty close. So er... do wizards not use cars?"

"No, we really don't have much need for them."

"How do you get around then?"

"Well, there's flying broom travel, for one."

"You mean wizards really do fly on brooms?" Potter exclaimed excitedly.

"Of course. But for long-distance travel, few people go with brooms. Brooms are mostly used in sports now. There's professional broom racing, Quidditch, and arial acrobatic competitions. We also have professional hippogryph races – they fly too, of course."

"Wow... so how do people do long-distance travel then?"

"Well, there's the Floo Network for one."

"What's that?" Potter asked with sparkling interest in his eyes.

Draco had just finished describing what the Floo Network was when the madam said she was done with taking Potter's measurements.

"How come you're not done yet?" Potter asked, looking at Draco who had yet _another_ robe drapped over his head and being pinned again.

"My mother is getting me a whole knew wardrobe. You know... you're just getting the basic student robes, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Why not get more? Get a full set for yourself too. Trousers, silk shirts, casual robes... maybe even get one set of dress robes."

"Oh... I never... I... yeah. Alright. Sure. Um, Madam?" Potter said, turning back to Madam Malkin who had been listening in and gave him a soft smile. She quickly brought out a listing of options and began to show Potter samples and patterns.

Pinning resumed again and Draco then began to explain what apparition was. The seamstress witch that was working on Draco finished first and as she packaged up his robes he continued to stand beside Potter talking and explaining things to the enthusiastic boy who was quickly slipping out of his shell and eagerly asking more questions.

"Alright then dear, you're done now too," Madam Malkin said and Potter turned and smiled up at her thankfully.

"Thanks!"

The two boys followed the witch up to the counter where Draco's package was already waiting for him. He pulled out the money pouch his mother had given him and paid, then stood aside and waited as Potter paid for his.

"Have you gotten your wand yet?" Draco asked.

"No, not yet."

"Well that's where I'm supposed to go next. My mother is supposed to be waiting there for me. Would you like to go with?"

"Oh, I don't know, I'd have to see what – oh, Hagrid!"

"There yeh are, 'arry! I got yeh some ice crème," Hagrid, who was standing just outside the store as they walked out, said holding two towering cones of ice cream that Draco knew must have been charmed by Fortescue not to melt or else it would have been dripping all over the half-giant's hands. "Who's yer friend?" Hagrid asked, turning his attention on Draco.

"Hey, Hagrid! Wow, thanks. Erm, this is my friend Draco. Draco, this is Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He brought me here from my relatives."

Draco found himself feeling shockingly warm and giddy at the introduction as Harry's 'friend'. Which was silly and he knew it. He momentarily tried to convince himself that it was because his efforts were paying off so quickly and that it had nothing to do with the stupidly still-painful rejection he'd experienced during his original first year.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Draco said to Hagrid, extending his tiny hand and keeping his face as impassive as he could and using every bit of self control he had to keep from grimacing as the enormous oaf shifted one of the cones into his other hand that was now holding both in one of his giant hands and then used his now free, but slightly sticky, hand to shake Draco's hand.

"Draco, was it? Will yeh be startin' Hogwarts this year?"

"That's right, sir."

"Ah, none of tha' sir nonsense. Call me Hagrid."

"Alright... Hagrid," Draco said, still managing to keep his expression impassive. He knew that insulting Hagrid had been one of his first significant mistakes with Harry Potter and was dedicated to not repeat it... no matter how repulsive he found the man.

"Draco asked me if I wanted to go with him to the wand shop," Harry said to Hagrid. "He said that his mother is waiting there for him."

"Well, I s'pose we could. We've still got a few more places teh go before we're done fer the day. I was thinkin' tha we could head to the menagerie next though."

"What's there?" Harry asked.

"Tha's where yeh can get yet pet, a'course!"

Draco had a vague recollection that Potter's owl had been a gift from Hagrid, apparently during this trip.

"Harry could come with me to Ollivanders while you go to the Magical Menagerie. My father told me that getting your first wand can sometimes take quite a while," Draco said as he remembered the frustrating twenty minute process of getting his wand the first time.

"Yeah, tha' is true. I suppose it would be fine then. I'll walk with yeh and then head off to let you two get yer wands."

The group made their way down the alley towards Ollivanders and Draco mostly kept his eyes on Harry who was still looking around wildly as if he were desperately trying to see everything there was to see, all at once.

Draco chuckled at a few of his reactions and easily answered the questions Potter actually asked out loud, while figuring by the other boy's confused or curious looks what Potter might be wondering about and taking the prerogative to answer per-emptively.

It was a strange experience for Draco in general. It was very outside his normal acceptable range of behavior to be so openly helpful. Normally he would take the opportunity to openly scorn another person's lack of knowledge. There was a time when the very idea of someone who was muggle-raised daring to step foot in and sully their noble and far superior society would have disgusted him, but he'd seen and experienced a lot since then, and his eyes had been opened.

Having a deep, determined, need, and powerfully driving reason to motive his change in behavior was helpful as well.

But that was simply the catalyst. Now that he was doing it, he was finding himself enjoying Potter's reactions. The open, trusting, smile on the smaller boy's face. The delighted glow in his eyes as he experienced the world of magic for the first time. The wonder and _awe_ that he was experiencing was wonderful. Draco had grown up in the wizarding world. He had always known this world. There really wasn't any awe or wonder in it for him. When he was very young and he'd been taken to Diagon Alley for the very first time, there had been some degree of it, but mostly he was trying too hard to impress his father by acting like a stupid little prat to enjoy the alley for what it was.

Now he was getting to enjoy it through Potter and it was rather exhilarating. Seeing the world that had become commonplace to him through the eyes of an outsider. And outsider who was clearly entranced with it's beauty and wonder.

They arrived at Ollivanders far too quickly for Draco's taste and the two boys made their way into the shop while Hagrid hunched down slightly and stuck his head in through the doorway and squinted into the dim shop.

"My mother is just over there," Draco said quickly. "Thanks for letting Harry come with me, by the way."

"Oh yeah, no worries, Well, alright then, I suppose I'll be seein' yeh is a bit, Harry. I'll probably be done and back bef'er the two of yeh are done in here. But if not, just come find me in the Magical Menagerie."

"Alright, Hagrid."

The half-giant man's head retreated from the open doorway and the door closed a moment later.

Draco sucked in a slow breath as he turned his attention back to where he'd seen his mother standing towards the wall opposite the front where they were currently standing. She'd turned around slowly and was currently looking at him with mildly concealed curiosity mixed with an obvious air of bewilderment. He had, after all, just come in with another boy while being escorted by the Hogwart's halfbreed groundskeeper.

"Hello, Mother."

"Draco, dear – who's your friend?" Narcissa Malfoy said, clearly choosing to ignore the undesirable escort and instead focus on the unidentified boy instead."

"Mother, this is... Harry Potter," Draco said after the slightest of pauses where he wondered the merits of simply introducing the boy as 'Harry', but knew that would never fly with either of his parents.

His mother's eyes widened minutely and then jerked over and went straight to Potter's forehead. Even in the dim room, he could see Potter's cheeks pinken and his head duck with embarrassment.

"Harry Potter?" she echoed mildly, and yet the shocked question in her tone was clearly there.

It was at that moment that Ollivander decided to make his mysterious appearance out of nowhere, pulling attention away from the uncomfortably bashful Harry Potter and to the silvery-eyed ancient wandmaker instead.

Draco volunteered to go first and Ollivander then proceeded to list the wood and core type of both his parents wands, _and_ his father's father's wand before walking over to the wall and beginning to pluck wand boxes out from the wall of wand boxes.

About ten minutes had passed with no discernible progress and Draco was honestly wishing he could just _tell_ the old man what his wand was supposed to be, but that was obviously not an option.

His mother made an effort to point out how long it had taken _her_ to get her first wand, just as she had his first time around, in order to reassure any childhood nerves he might be experiencing, even though he actually wasn't. He continued to talk with Potter through the whole process, telling the boy what he knew about wands.

He told him about the primary wand core types he'd heard of being used, and about how the wood type, more often than not, tended to be associated with whatever time of the month you were born in.

"Really? But if it does, how come he hasn't asked you when your birthday was?"

Draco shrugged. "He probably knows. You'll notice that most of the wands he's had me try are either Hawthorn, Willow, or Oak?"

"Yeah?"

"Those are the three woods around my birthday. Willow is for mid-April through mid-May, so it's actually one early. Hawthorn is for mid May through mid June, so Hawthorn is probably my best match because my birthday is June 5th. Oak is from mid-June through early July."

"What's for late July?" Harry asked.

"Holly. Most of August is Hazel if I recall correctly."

"You are quite knowledgeable about wandlore, Mr. Malfoy," Ollivander said as he reappeared at his side with a mildly impressed sparkle to his eyes.

Draco couldn't help tilting his nose up and smirking slightly.

His eyes glanced hesitantly over to his mother who was perched stiffly on the spindly little chair by the door and he could see that her brows had risen slightly into her forehead and she looked honestly impressed herself that he knew much of anything at all about wands. It was an obscure branch of magic and few people bothered to learn much about it. Most people's interest only went as far as getting a wand that worked for them and then some basic maintenance and polish.

Draco had found it rather interesting when he'd stumbled across a book about it in second year when he was first entering his secret bookish phase that he'd kept tightly hidden from anyone who might ridicule him for it.

Ollivander then presented him with another box, lifted off the lid and Draco was faced with a gloriously familiar wand. His eyes lit up with recognition which he quickly concealed as he reached out and took the wand in his hand.

A relieved breath escaped him, despite his efforts to control his reactions and he felt himself smile as a warm tingle rushed through his hand, up his arm, and down his chest.

"Hawthorn, 10 inches, reasonably springy, unicorn hair," Ollivander was saying as Draco gave the wand a swish and a shower of green sparks shot from the end.

Harry gave a happy whoop and clapped his hands in congratulation. Draco looked at the shorter boy and smiled in both thanks as well as honest joy at being reunited with his precious wand.

Once they'd paid for his wand, it was obvious that his mother was torn between her desire to get out of the grubby little store and rejoin his father, and the desire to get to observe the Boy-Who-Lived getting his first wand.

Finally, Draco was able to whine his way into staying to keep his new friend company since Harry had so graciously stood around while he got his wand.

Harry seemed grateful that Draco had stayed and that gratitude only grew as he went through more and more wands, and the old wandmaker got more and more excited. He was muttering quietly under his breath as he went back and forth from the little table and his walls of wand boxes. He seemed rather thrilled with his 'tough customer', and after about a half hour of trying out wands and constantly blowing bits of the store to pieces, Ollivander finally muttered something under his breath before disappearing back into the rear of the store and reappeared with a single box that he opened hesitantly – almost reverently – and offered it to Harry.

Harry reached out tentatively and grasped the wand in his hand. Wind seemed to blow in the tiny, dusty, shop and Draco could _feel_ the magic that seemed to pour out from the small boy as he was chosen by the wand in his hand.

"Go ahead. Give it a wave," Ollivander whispered.

Harry did just that and a huge shower of golden sparks emerged from the tip, lighting up Potter's elated face and filling the room with light for the next few moments.

"Curious... very curious," Ollivander whispered, eyeing Harry and the wand with intense, silvery eyes.

"What's curious?" Harry asked, his voice little more than a whisper as well, since the tense atmosphere in the small shop seemed to call for it, still.

"The Phoenix whose feather lies in the core of your wand gave another feather – only one other feather, ever. It just so happens that the wand who shares a twin core to your own was the very wand that gave you that... scar," the old wandmaker whispered as his finger came up and brushed across Harry's forehead, exposing the scar beneath the fringe.

Draco heard his mother gasp from several feet behind him, and felt his own heart pounding in his chest as he processed what the old man had just revealed.

"You mean, Voldemort?" Harry whispered as he looked up at Ollivander with wide eyes, filled with a boiling cauldron of emotions.

Draco noticed that his mother made a quiet hissing sound as she pulled in air through clenched teeth as the boy dared to speak the Dark Lord's name. Draco couldn't help but feel the slightest tinge of envy and awe at the boy's courage. Of course, at this point, it was mostly ignorance. But even after Potter _had_ known how terrifying the Dark Lord was, he'd still continued to defy common sense and propriety and freely used the forbidden name.

"I never forget a wand, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said in that eerie voice of his. "Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — _terrible_, yes, but great."

Potter paid for his wand and the three left the shop in silence. Hagrid was out there waiting for him and offered up the best distraction from the eerie events that they had all just witnessed unfold. A present. He was standing there with a bright, accomplished smile on is face, holding an owl cage with a familiar, beautiful snowy owl in it.

He presented it to Harry with a hearty _'Harry Birthday, Harry!'_, to which Potter gasped and muttered something about never getting a birthday present before as he flushed and looked over his new owl.

Draco couldn't help but wonder if Potter could possibly be exaggerating, or if he really _hadn't_ gotten a birthday present before.

Potter went on to say something to Hagrid about a cake and how he hadn't needed to get him anything, which Hagrid quickly dismissed.

"Harry," Draco said, calling the smaller boy's attention back to him, "I've got to go now, but er... well, now that you've got your own owl, would you mind if I wrote to you? Until school starts up, that is."

Potter's eyes widened and his face seemed to glow with surprise and joy. "You'd want to write to me?" he whispered, and Draco felt something twist inside him. He realized that he'd known on some level that Potter did not have a pleasant home-life with the muggles , years ago, but it hadn't really _meant_ anything to him then. But now he was seeing Potter as a young, innocent boy, who was obviously so very desperate for somewhere to belong – somewhere to be happy – and a friend.

The whole thing was confusing and conflicting and Draco found himself quickly burying the flurry of confusion emotions and swallowing the lump that had manifested in his throat.

He forced a warm smile out and rolled his eyes playfully. "Of _course_ I would. Is it alright?"

"Yes! That would be brilliant. I've um... well, I've never had an owl before or anything, obviously, so I'm not entirely sure what to do."

"Well, we can exchanges addresses now," Draco said as he turned to his mother. "Can I use some of the parchment we bought at the stationary shop?"

"I've got some in my handbag. It would be simpler than unshrinking our purches," his mother said as she slid the ornately beaded handbag off her shoulder and began to dig around inside it for a moment. She came out with a small leather-bound address book and a self-inking quill and handed them to Draco, who quickly wrote down the owl post address to the Manor on one of the pages and tore it out.

Harry took it and read it briefly. "Draco Malfoy's room, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England. Is that really enough for the post?"

"That should be more than enough. The owl should be able to find me from that. Really intelligent owls can find a person with only their name on the letter, but putting a bit of an address is usually a good idea, just in case."

"Oh, alright, um, for mine –" Harry hesitated long enough for Draco to get the quill and address book ready again. "Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, England."

Draco wrote it down, tore out the page and put it into his pocket. He then handed the address book and quill back to his mother and thanked her politely. She gave him a curt nod and went back to observing her son's curious interactions with the Boy-Who-Lived, in silence.

"Alright, well I'll write to you later tonight, probably, if that's alright?" Draco said hesitantly.

"That'd be brilliant, I'll watch for your owl."

"Great. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter. You too, Mr. Hagrid," Draco said, slipping into a slightly more formal tone and bowing his head slightly to Hagrid.

"Now, I told ya – just Hagrid. It was nice meetin' ya to. Er, nice seein' yeh, Lady Malfoy," Hagrid said, giving a small bow of his head to Draco's mother. Draco noticed the slightest bit of concern enter the halfbreed's eyes as he glanced at her and then back down to Draco, but it was gone a moment later. Draco had wondered if Hagrid had realized _who_ exactly he was, but apparently he had at some point figured it out.

"Yes, thank you. It was... pleasant, seeing you as well, Mr. Hagrid," his mother responded in a rather clipped tone but Draco noticed she managed not to grimace or sneer. She was no doubt going along for Draco's sake. He was fully anticipating a rather thorough inquisition as soon as Harry Potter was no longer present and he was _not_ looking forward to it. "It was also a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Potter," she continued as she knelt down in front of Harry and ran her hand over his chaotic fringe. Potter's eyes widened significantly at his whole body seemed to tense at the unexpected contact. Draco rolled his eyes. Even with a complete stranger of a boy she couldn't keep herself from some excessive public mothering.

"Did you know, Mr. Potter, that you and I are second cousins?" Narcissa Malfoy said with a small smile and in a quiet voice.

Potter's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened even further. Draco's jaw dropped with it because – cousin? – this was the first time he'd ever heard anything of the sort!

"C-cousins?" Potter gasped.

Draco's mother smiled kindly and nodded her head. "Yes, that's right. Your father, James Potter, was the son of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. Dorea Black was my great-aunt."

"Potter's grandmother was a Black?" Draco gasped in shock.

"Yes, dear. The Potters are listed on the Black Family Tree. I've shown you my copy."

"Well, yes, but... I... I guess I just ever noticed," Draco said, his voice faltering as he was still feeling rather overwhelmed by this shocking revelation. Why had he never heard anything of the sort _before now? _Then again, his family probably hadn't been all that eager to parade around a familial relation to the boy who _vanquished_ the their Lord.

"Wait, so Draco and I are _related?"_ Harry exclaimed, looking both stunned and elated at the same time.

"That's right," Narcissa said with that same warm smile.

Hagrid was looking confused now, but that concerned expression was back in his eyes and they darted between the two Malfoys and the Boy-Who-Lived. No doubt Dumbledore would be hearing about this when the oaf got back to the castle.

"I... I didn't know I had any family... other than my aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley, anyway." Potter said in a quiet voice with a bit of a quaver.

"Well, now you know," Narcissa said with a curt nod and after a light pat to his shoulder, she stood up tall and proud returning to her normal public persona. She turned her attention on Hagrid and Draco noticed a bit of her obvious disgust for the man show on her face, but it was carefully controlled. "You are his guide while he gets his school supplies?"

"Tha's right," Hagrid said with a nod.

"Might I suggest you take him to Aspicio's Oculus. His glasses are practically falling apart and he clearly needs new ones. He's at the right age for eyesight correction, if he's interested in that." She turned her eyes back down to Potter and her gaze softened some. "I had my own eyesight corrected the summer before I attended Hogwarts. If you wish to do it, you should do it soon. If you wait too long, you won't be able to fix them and will have to rely on glasses your whole life."

"I can get my eyes _fixed?_" Potter gasped in awe.

"But of course. I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Potter. Do keep in touch. Come along, Draco. I'm sure your father is beginning to wonder what's keeping us so long."

"Yes, Mother," Draco replied automatically before turning his head back to Potter. "I'll see you on the train, Harry. I'll send an owl tonight."

"Yeah, see ya," Potter said, seeming somewhat stunned still.

Waves were exchanged and Draco followed his mother down the street towards the bookstore while Potter turned back to Hagrid and his focus seemed to shift back onto his new owl.

**To continue or not to continue? That is the question. ;)**


End file.
